


a lack of understanding

by perplexed (orphan_account)



Category: Smosh
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Chaptered, Eventual Fluff, Eventual Smut, M/M, Recreational Drug Use, Smoking, trigger warnings mostly apply to later chapters!
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-22
Updated: 2014-01-22
Packaged: 2018-01-09 14:36:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,770
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1147140
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/perplexed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>ian is an accomplished photographer and videographer working in central london. anthony is an american model with a chip on his shoulder and a taste for parties.</p><p>[[will eventually be updated. eventually.]]</p>
            </blockquote>





	a lack of understanding

**Author's Note:**

> I've been meaning to write an AU of this ilk, set in London, for AGES but for some reason I only just recently got around to it. Hopefully updated regularly as I've got a fair bit written already. No idea how long this will end up being - I may make it a collection on here instead so I can write other things in the same universe once this is done with!
> 
> If any of the terms in here confuse you, like place names and such, hit me up on [Tumblr](http://hecox.co.vu) and I'll explain the best I can since I know not all of you are from England c: If you're struggling for mental images of the first bit of this, take a look at the Dazed & Confused website since that's the kind of thing I was envisioning!
> 
> Title taken from the song by The Vaccines!

The first thing Anthony noticed about Ian was that he was smoking indoors. Granted, it was seven in the morning and they were standing inside an abandoned factory unit somewhere in South London, but the lit cigarette hanging from this stranger's mouth left Anthony curling his top lip in disgust. He tilted his head back to let the stylist, who had been working on buckling whatever elaborate contraption was (barely) functioning as a belt around his waist, fasten a few chains around his neck. She smiled at Anthony and patted his chest, and though she was kind enough she was obviously keen to sit down and pull a blanket around her shoulders while Anthony stood in the freezing cold wearing little more than a pair of torn, coated jeans, heavy combat boots and whatever this belt... thing was. He shivered noticeably and resisted the urge to rub the makeup from around his eyes as he stepped in front of the lights that the smoking man had been setting up and testing, firing the too bright for 7am flash every few seconds.

Ian pinched the bridge of his nose hard, stepping around to the front of the camera and gripping Anthony's shoulders to maneuver him into position. He didn't introduce himself or even speak until he was standing behind the camera again, one eye fixed firmly on the viewfinder as he reached up blindly to turn a dial on one of the bright lights to his right.

"It's Anthony, right?" Ian asked, and Anthony felt like he shouldn't have been shocked by the man's British accent at all, yet he was if he told the truth. Anthony nodded, pursing his lips and glaring down the lens six feet away from him. "Alright, cool," Ian spoke, dropping the smoked down cigarette from his fingers and grinding the remnants into the concrete below his feet. "'M Ian."

Anthony gave an uninterested nod, still staring down the camera's lens. He really just wanted to get back to his new apartment and cook himself a decent meal. If he'd have known that being a model entailed getting up at five in the morning to travel to, and set up for, a photoshoot in a creaking and crumbling factory which had to be literally nearly freezing, he'd have just gone to college and studied political science like his mom wanted him to. Shoots like this were made worse by a few kinds of people, but predominantly people like Ian who had already manhandled him and tried to make idle conversation before he'd had chance to eat breakfast. Anthony thought fleetingly about making himself a bacon sandwich when he got home, or maybe asking one of the underpaid interns who fell over themselves to help Ian to get him something, but he was snapped from his thoughts about a late breakfast when Ian spoke again.

"Could you get up on that box for me?" Ian murmured, still firmly fixed behind his camera, only he'd turned his head to look at his laptop instead of being glued to the viewfinder of his camera and now Anthony could see his face. He wasn't the kind of photographers he'd been used to working with before, Ian was all facial hair and boyish charm instead of tattoos and skinny jeans, and he was good looking, too. Perhaps not in the same kind of way Anthony knew he was, but in a boy-next-door kind of way.

Anthony stepped up onto the wooden carton, groaning as he lifted his foot since the boots he had fastened around his feet seemed to weigh five times as much as his feet usually did. He heard Ian laugh from behind his little barricade of lights as he struggled to get his balance again and Anthony mentally wrote a note reminding him to tell his agency that he wasn't going to be going anywhere near any more platform boots, no matter how much the stylist liked them.

"You alright?" Ian asked, rolling up the sleeves of his plaid shirt despite it only getting colder as wind whistled through the broken windows and unhinged steel doors. When Anthony nodded, Ian seemed to get back into his working mentality, his head down and eyes fixed firmly on whatever he could see through his camera. It was nothing unusual, just another photoshoot, but Anthony didn't miss Ian laughing at his stupid jokes and the loud thump that echoed off cold brick walls when Anthony hopped down off the wooden crate and stumbled in a way which could only be described as cartoon-like.

Ian was glad when the shoot finished, not because Anthony was hard to work with, (quite the contrary actually, the conversation had come easy enough and he was good at what he did,) or because he hadn't got the pictures he needed, but instead because rain was spitting down through the broken sheet metal roof and it was just getting colder as the day went on. He thanked everything in the known universe that he wasn't a model because he could put his jacket on and Anthony had to stand around mostly in one place, (he occasionally jogged on the spot or jumped up and down to stop his fingers looking quite so blue in the cold,) without a shirt on altogether.

“I think we’re done here,” Ian said as he straightened up, his back popping and clicking as he stretched. He shot a grin at Anthony before setting about turning the lighting around him off, leaving one on so Anthony could get back into his normal clothes and the stylist could pack away her rack of clothing. Meanwhile, Ian busied himself with unplugging the rest of his equipment, methodically packing cables and lenses into well used flight cases with nicks and dents all over them. Gawking at male models, (at least during work hours,) wasn’t exactly the most polite thing, so while Anthony blatantly changed in the middle of the room instead of behind the screen the stylist had propped up for him, Ian kept his gaze locked on the floor or whatever he was folding up and stowing away.

“Hey, so uh, you wanna grab some coffee?” Ian heard from behind him, turning with a raised eyebrow to see Anthony standing there with his hands shoved into the pockets of a form fitting leather jacket, a scarf thrown around his shoulders. “I thought it might warm us both up.” Smirking, Ian had to bite back a sarcastic rebuttal. Even though he didn’t consider himself to be remotely one of the most attractive photographers working in London, he got his fair share of coffee dates and guys falling over his lap whenever he went to a party, but then Ian guessed that was one of the perks of being out of the closet, so to speak.

Ian shook his head and motioned towards the flight cases at his feet, slinging his bag over his head. “Nah, better not. I’ve gotta be somewhere in an hour.” Another small smirk and Ian held his hand out. “I’ll give you my number though, maybe tomorrow some time.” Anthony dug around in the pocket of his skinny jeans and handed Ian his phone. He still wasn’t sure whether or not this whole thing was professional despite modelling for a few years, but he’d never been one to care anyway and Ian was good looking enough for him to overlook anything his agent might say about it.

“I’m already looking forward to it,” Anthony smirked, watching as Ian saved his phone number and handed his phone back. “I’ll call you,” he promised, all but sauntering away with the same cocky smirk plastered across his face. Part of Ian wanted to punch him, but he couldn’t be any worse than any of the other models he’d spent time with, and he definitely couldn’t be any worse in bed, since that’s usually where phone numbers exchanged with a smirk and an ‘I’ll call you’ went.

Ian shook his head as he watched Anthony walk away, waiting for a few minutes before walking out to his car and throwing his cases in the back.

* * *

Ian hadn’t actually been expecting Anthony to call him mid-way through him getting dinner in a cafe near his house, but he wasn’t surprised when the voice on the end of the line was mostly muffled by loud music and voices. Anthony had only just got into London a week before, after all. He was pretty enough to get invited to magazine parties and enough of a new face to provide something new and interesting to look at over their champagne cocktails.

“Hey!” Anthony said with a loud giggle. It was only half past seven and he was already drunk. Damn, Ian knew he’d have to teach the guy a thing or two about pacing his drinks through the night if they ever went out together. Ian balanced his phone between his ear and his shoulder, paying for his take-out with a mouthed ‘keep the change’. He rolled his eyes.

“You’re not already wasted at half seven, are you?” Ian asked, not bothering to say hi back. Enough models drunk dialled him unintentionally, he was used to having to pick up drunk people and hoping they didn’t throw up in his car. A hiccough, then another laugh from the other end of the line.

“Mayyybe. Maybe I have a plus one I didn’t invite and I’m bored and wasted.” Ian rolled his eyes again, an exasperated sigh passing from his lips. He wanted to sit down in front of an episode of Sherlock and not move until he went to bed, but at the same time having Anthony hanging off his arm did sound appealing. “D’ya wanna come? I can get you in,” Anthony slurred, and Ian looked down at the bag of food he had in his hand wistfully.

“Yeah, fuck it, why not, right?” Anthony laughed again. At least Ian could tell he wasn’t a sullen drunk, which was always a good thing since he’d shown up at some parties only to be bored by a sullen nineteen year old complaining about how hard their life was. “Give me an hour and I’ll head over there.”

“Damn right you will,” Anthony said, and Ian snorted out a small laugh as he walked back towards his house. He kept a mental note of the party’s address, though he wasn’t sure that Anthony had it right if he was honest, putting the phone down as he got to his house, cutting Anthony off mid-sentence. So much for a quiet night in.


End file.
